Plucky the Protest Mouse vs The Fat Cats
Sometimes you have to make a stand. Even when you’re less than 10cm tall and a handknitted mouse. Maybe especially when you’re 10cm tall and a handknitted mouse. You may only be one teeny tiny squeak but maybe if you squeak up when things are unjust then someone will hear you and stand with you. And if enough of you are standing then you might start changing things for the better. This is the tale of one little Protest Mouse who stood up and squeaked. Why a Protest Mouse was born Up...
Read MoreBook worm dreams, Grim Reaper wrestling and hatching a woolly Godzilla: Part Two
The final part in my tale of book worm dream and wrestling with the Grim Reaper: We last left me facing off against the Big Casino (my affectionate term for the evil cancer I was battling) with the desire to pick up a pair of knitting needles. (If you missed it read Part One first) The tale continues… Keep calm and carry yarn So while I was letting medical staff fill my veins full of innocuous-looking liquid that burned on the way in and caused me to have to rock the skinhead look, I...
Read MoreBook worm dreams, Grim Reaper wrestling and hatching a woolly Godzilla: Part One
Here's where the phrase 'Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.' echoes loudly through my life. In the screaming face of all that horror I did what any girl in peril would do. I learned to knit.
Read MoreAugsburg: An unofficial White Wall and auf wiedersehen
I'll end with my very favourite moment in Augsburg. It was totally unplanned, unofficial and possibly rather illegal. If defined by was over and the White Wall on the side of the stadium was to be demolished at sunrise then there was clearly only one thing we could possibly do. I'm so glad someone managed to talk these mysterious figures into it...
Read MoreLondon: The Fourth Plinth: “Knitting girl! Knitting girl!”
Yesterday morning I was art. It was all the fault of Mr Antony Gormley, whose cast-iron sculptures scared the bejesus out of half of London in 2007 by peering down from South Bank rooftops like rusty angels of death.
Read MoreLondon: Surprise invasion of the Snow People
Cold and very grumpy trains refuse to leave their grit-platformed stations. Colder and grumpier commuters stand around Underground entrances muttering, but secretly happy to ‘work from home’. Little old ladies grudgingly turn up the thermostat and peer in horror at pavements that promise hip replacements. Double decker buses slide gracefully into turns. The Grenadier guards on Whitehall are thankful for their furry hats. Every inch of the city is suddenly blanketed in...
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